Vois Sur Ton Chemin
by previouslyjade
Summary: 6th year AU. After Sirius' death, a grieving Harry stays shut in his room, blocking out the world. But that all changes when Draco Malfoy is mauled by a werewolf right outside No. 4 Privet Drive. Now an outcast from the Pureblood community, Draco must seek acceptance elsewhere. And Harry gets dragged into helping him find it. Not slash.
1. Skirmish at Privet Drive

**Chapter 1. Skirmish at Privet Drive**

 _Disclaimer: I own neither the wizarding world nor its characters. They both belong to J.K. Rowling._

 _Warning: Slight reference to corporal punishment. Some descriptions of werewolf-related violence._

 _A/N: The father-son relationship I have depicted here is not a statement of the author's own views, merely my interpretation of the Malfoy family dynamic. It is not my intention to cause offence in any way._

 _I would like to dedicate this fic to fellow site users theangelsarecoming and TheGirlWhoseWaiting. theangelsarecoming, for being a fantastic writer (go check out her stories!) from whom I have learnt and gained much inspiration, and for introducing me to a number of really great movies that are now my favourites, including the one from which this story is named - 'Les Choristes'. TheGirlWhoseWaiting, for random discussions of plot twists, weeping angels and the proper naming of sandwiches, putting up with my Bellatrix obsession for an entire afternoon, and for teaching me how to titrate!_

 _Enough from me - on with the story!_

* * *

Draco Malfoy was sixteen and the world had suddenly lost its centre. His father was in Azkaban, incarcerated in the aftermath of what became known as the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. So he and Narcissa were left alone (apart from sundry house-elves and other underlings) to look after each other and somehow keep the Malfoy name from dragging in the dust.

It didn't help that they could feel Voldemort's anger hovering like a storm above their heads. He was probably waiting until Lucius was released. But sooner or later, his anger would break, and when it broke – well, they would be lucky to withstand the torrent.

Narcissa, so expert at keeping up appearances during the day, cried and muttered in her lonely bedroom in the early hours of the night. The sound pierced the walls like shrapnel, twisting itself into Draco's heart as he lay awake. But there was nothing he could do.

It was this feeling of utter helplessness in the face of his mother's anguish that finally drove him away from the manor at nights. His father had taught him to Apparate the previous Christmas holidays, despite the fact that he was underage.

It had been a gruelling few days. His father had demanded Draco's unwavering concentration throughout the teaching process, and once, when his mind had visibly wandered (it had been at the sight of a large, mottled brown owl sweeping in over the courtyard with a parcel tied to its leg), had struck him across the face, the emerald on his ring cutting into Draco's cheek. Later, inside the house, his mother had placed her cool palm over the welt, but had said not a word to gainsay her husband's actions.

Draco understood his father's strictness a little more, however, when he Splinched himself on the third day.

The pain was blinding, and he could do little more than curl up on the ground, panting from the effort of not screaming. He would later learn that half his right side had been missing, leaving a gaping hole in his abdomen.

Later, he would clearly recall only two things about the incident – the expression on his father's face, which he at first thought was anger, but later realised was fear, as he knelt beside him and waved his wand to reunite the missing part of his body – and, afterwards, the strange, unaccustomed gentleness of Lucius' hand on his shoulder even as he lectured him sternly on having let his concentration lapse.

What would Lucius have thought of Draco using his newly acquired skill to roam far from Malfoy Manor at nights? Probably with great disapproval. Draco knew this, and felt ashamed, but shame was no stranger to him – all his life he had done things first and dealt with the consequences (emotional or otherwise) afterwards. Shame was a price he was prepared to pay for comfort, for privilege, and, more recently, for freedom.

This time, he emerged from the tunnel of compression that was Apparition on the pavement of an unfamiliar street. Draco had never been to Little Whinging or seen No. 4 Privet Drive, but he had managed to find out that this was Harry's address, and had felt a certain curiosity to see it.

He had expected a mansion. He saw a small, neat little house.

Cautiously, for he knew that the house must be protected by wards, he crept over the fence and into the garden. By wand-light he saw the neatness of the garden, the precise arrangement of the flowerbeds. Not bad. So the Muggles had a sense of taste after all. No doubt more so than that idiot Potter.

The house seemed mainly boring and commonplace, if in better taste than Draco had expected of the Muggles, but there was a curious window on the upper storey that intrigued him. It was small, smaller than the other windows, and bore the rusty remnants of prison bars. It must be where they kept some sort of servant. Muggles didn't have house-elves. Did they?

He was just considering how best to see inside the room when he heard a noise, and froze. A chilling sound, at once alien and familiar. The howl of a wolf.

Draco thought that his blood might well freeze in his veins. There were no wild wolves in the middle of suburbia – and that left only one option.

Werewolf.

Earlier that summer, Fenrir Greyback had come to stay the night at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had looked at the creature with disdain and not a little fear. Lucius, in his time of favour with the Dark Lord, might have refused him entry. Narcissa dared not now refuse accommodation to Voldemort's minion.

Greyback had torn his meat like a wild animal, looking at Draco with shifty eyes. The house-elves, cowering in fear, had prepared finely cooked steak for their fearsome guest, only to have him demand raw flesh. With blood dripping from his mouth and greasy fingers, Greyback had interrogated Draco on his future plans.

Of course he would become a Death Eater. Yes, he planned to be initiated as soon as he was of age. Indeed he was looking forward to serving alongside the likes of Greyback, very much indeed.

Sensing that her son was becoming overwrought, Narcissa herself had answered some of the questions. Greyback's shifty yellow leer looked her up and down, and she shivered in disgust and dismay.

Mother and son spent a sleepless night watching the flames dance in the fireplace, listening to Greyback's snores echo through the lonely mansion. In the morning he was gone.

Now, hearing that howl, Draco was almost paralysed with dread. He stood, indecisive, too terrified to think of simply Apparating back, clutching his wand in shaking fingers. The full moon now emerging from her cloud seemed to be laughing. He had been foolish.

The howl came again, much closer.

The sudden surge of adrenaline took Draco by surprise. He leapt the fence and dashed off down the street, wand at the ready. Behind him, the dogs of the neighbourhood set up a frenzied barking.

There was a snarl behind him and he turned to see the great wolf bounding in pursuit of him, over pavements turned silver with liquid moonlight. Desperately, he fired spells at it – _"Expelliarmus! Sectumsempra! Crucio!"_ The wolf seemed to be bleeding, but it was gaining on him every second.

He had thought that he might faint from terror; but during the few seconds that it took for the wolf to send him sprawling on the pavement and rip his wand arm from elbow to shoulder, he was still vividly, horribly conscious.

* * *

It was well past midnight, but in the tiny room with the remains of bars on the window at No. 4 Privet Drive, Harry James Potter lay awake; eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling, thoughts far away.

He wished he could pace up and down his narrow room, but knew that Uncle Vernon, ears ever alert for the slightest sound from Harry's room, would probably be upstairs in a flash, hammering on the door and shouting threats.

Harry, pulled like the string of a drawn bow between fury and misery ever since Sirius' death, had already received one underage magic warning from the Ministry this summer. He could not afford to receive another, or he would be expelled from Hogwarts. So he had spent most of the holiday so far shut up in his room, speaking to no one, too drained even to read Ron and Hermione's letters.

He _had_ read and replied to the one letter from Remus, but the comfort that it had brought had soon faded, leaving a deeper depression. Anything from Remus reminded him of Sirius as well by association.

Submerged in the black mire of his thoughts, Harry did not react to the quiet, stealthy noises outside that, for all his care, Draco had been unable to muffle. He did not even hear the first howl.

Hedwig was more alert. She began hooting and shuffling restlessly in her cage, and it was this that pulled Harry from his reverie.

"Hedwig, shush," he muttered anxiously, listening in dismay for any sound from the Dursleys' bedroom below.

They both heard it, the second howl, the rattle of the gate and the pounding footsteps down the street. Half a second later, the dogs of the neighbourhood burst into uproar.

Agitated sounds from the master bedroom below confirmed that the Dursleys too had been woken by the disturbance. From the window, a now thoroughly alert Harry watched Vernon, swearing, rush out to the front gate with pyjamas and torch, followed by a huge black shape that seemed to fly across the pavement, in pursuit of a slender dark figure with silver hair….

Harry's stomach turned over. He sprang into action, racing down the stairs two at a time, wand in hand. He vaulted the fence and sped down the narrow street towards the two dark shapes struggling on the ground, not registering Uncle Vernon's bellow: "Boy! Come back here at once!"

The werewolf – Harry had recognized it in an instant – had its prey helpless on the ground. Harry knew that most spells would not work against a werewolf, but perhaps he could distract it enough for the unfortunate soul it had bitten to get away….

 _"Petrificus Totalis!"_ he shouted hoarsely. _"Furnunculus! Expulso! Stupefy!"_

Terror quickly followed relief as the wolf turned away from its target only to launch itself at Harry, who was by now standing mere feet away. Desperate, he pointed his wand at the ground and shouted,

 _"Confringo!"_

The tarmac exploded in a shower of sparks and dark clods of matter, knocking the wolf off its feet and burying it underneath the rubble. Beneath Harry's feet, a vast crater had formed, the width of the street, separating him and the crumpled, silver-haired figure on the ground that was even now struggling to his feet.

The build was familiar, as was the hair.

" _Malfoy?"_

He was gasping in pain or fear or maybe both, and unable to answer. Harry started to clamber down into the crater to reach him as quickly as possible, but before he could get very far Malfoy had taken his wand in his left hand, shakily turned on the spot, and Apparated.

He left a pool of crimson slowly drying on the tarmac.

By now, police sirens were wailing, and the wolf was struggling and growling in an attempt to free itself. Harry retreated, wand still at the ready, and shepherded Uncle Vernon, white with shock, inside the garden. Soft pops from all around signalled the arrival of Aurors, who advanced upon the scene. Two of them approached Harry – a large, bullock-like man who looked as though he could have taken on Uncle Vernon with ease, and a slender young woman with bright pink hair.

"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said. "Some trouble you have got yourself into this time."

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 _A/N: First off, hardcore fans will have noticed that in this universe, Apparition is not counted as underage magic, otherwise Draco would have received multiple warnings already. I realise that's a stretch, and that I'm really bending the rules to make my plot work. But I hope you can excuse it! **Aug. 21: More to be explained later - thanks theangelsarecoming for a very good suggestion.**_

 _Also...any feedback would be much appreciated! I may not always reply to reviews, but my gratitude for each one is always heartfelt. Also, I should warn you that it may be a while until I next update. Year 12 is not a good time to be writing fanfics. Thank you for reading!_


	2. D'Autres Lendemains Part 1

**Chapter 2. D'Autres Lendemains**

 _Donnez-leur la main/Pour les mener à d'autres lendemains  
Give them your hand/To lead them to other tomorrows (Les Choristes)_

 ** _PART 1._**

 _Disclaimer: I own neither the wizarding world nor its characters. They both belong to J.K. Rowling._

 _A/N: This is only the first part of the second chapter, but I decided that, as it has already been more than two weeks since I published this story, it was time for an update. The second part of Chapter 2 will be posted as soon as I have the time to write it!_

 _I was absolutely thrilled (not to mention astonished) by the interest in this story. Seven follows and two favourites may not seem like much in comparison to the hundreds that many authors get, but it means a lot to me! Also, two precious reviews! Thank you Lupinesence for being my first reviewer, and theangelsarecoming for being so encouraging! I'm glad you liked Chapter 1 :) It's thanks to all of you that I decided to update now rather than waiting till I had the rest of the chapter down on (metaphorical) paper._

 _Without further ado - here it is! Enjoy!_

* * *

With characteristic efficiency, the Muggle policemen and the Aurors had it all sorted out by the following afternoon. (The part played by the policemen consisted mainly of being Obliviated by the Aurors and sent away in vague confusion.) The capture of Fenrir Greyback made headlines in the _Daily Prophet._

Harry was cleared from blame, although it would be weeks before Uncle Vernon could so much as look at him without turning an apoplectic shade of purple (or Dudley, a similarly unflattering pastry-white). He didn't care. He wasn't sure if he had it in him to care about anything, after Sirius.

To Narcissa Malfoy, Greyback's arrest was cold enough comfort. She was beyond thinking of justice. She would have traded everything she had, just to see her son open his eyes again.

It had been like something out of her worst nightmares.

Waking unrefreshed sometime after midnight, she had painted invisible patterns of her thoughts on the high ceiling, as had been her wont since Lucius was taken from her. When the first rays of dawn touched the hills, fragile as glass, she had dressed by wand-light, though without summoning Tinky the house elf to do her elegant coiffure. This too was custom.

She walked to the top of the stairs that led down to the living room, saw the bloodstains, and screamed.

Draco had managed to drag himself to his room. Merlin only knew how. His blood had soaked into the green and silver carpet in a dark trail that led from the Apparition point. When she saw his white face, Narcissa wondered how much of the substance he still had left.

The bite wounds would not close. She summoned the best Healers that money could buy. They told her the truth.

Her son, her only son, had become a werewolf.

Narcissa rallied quickly, telling herself even in her panic (she had turned more deathly-pale even than her son) that it mattered not; that she only cared that Draco would survive. Her hands as she put the poultices of dittany on his wounds were steady. The Healers were astounded at her competence and the authority in her bearing.

Days passed, but Draco remained unconscious. Narcissa seemed to have aged ten years. Her eyes seemed to burn with a silver fire that consumed inwards. Certainly she was taking in little else to sustain her, of either food or rest.

On the eighth day after Draco was found, when she had yet again ignored the eldest Healer's instructions to go to her chamber and rest, he smuggled a powerful sleeping potion into her drink.

He prayed that this would not make him next in line for one of the Malfoy clan's spectacular revenges.

* * *

The pain was there in his dreams, like white-hot knives pressing into his shoulder and arm, and though he fled from it, through nightmare lands where the sky was green and silver and the earth covered in crimson snow, it would not leave him.

He returned to consciousness, a long time later, slowly, through layers of the same green and silver haze. He was aware of being surrounded by warmth, but could not detect anything else about his surroundings. Presumably he was in his room, far enough away from the kitchens that no smell of food could possibly waft up.

It seemed to take a colossal effort just to lift his eyelids, and a still greater mental effort to process what he was seeing. Two round areas of silver, the same colour as his dreams, which he realised were eyes; a long, aristocratic nose; dark smudges like bruises above similarly aristocratic cheekbones. The light came from behind, stabbing at his eyes and making him wince.

"Mother?" he tried to croak out, his thoughts only now registering the changes in her, the way she seemed utterly worn and broken down; but his throat was too dry to speak. An unseen hand held a cup to his lips and he swallowed.

"Draco," she said, and there was something in her voice that struck, deep inside him, a sickening chord of fear. In a sudden rush of horror, he remembered everything – the incident with the werewolf, Apparating back to Malfoy Manor with his arm ripped open. Why was it that people always said that they'd rather die than be bitten by a werewolf? His foggy mind chased after the thought and grasped it.

People became werewolves from being bitten by werewolves. This was one injury from which he could never fully recover.

He, Draco Malfoy, pureblood, _was_ a werewolf.

He looked up at his mother again, despair sinking in slowly. "You know, don't you," he whispered.

As if in slow motion he saw her proud face crumple, as though into a million shards of bright-dark pain – saw her, weeping now, bend her head into the blankets, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

* * *

The next few days were depressing enough. In constant pain, Draco spent most of his time in bed, gnawed on by misery. Then again, thinking of the future he was likely to have would be enough to make anyone miserable.

The bite, and the Change that he knew would come upon him at the next full moon (now only two weeks away, he calculated), had effectively stripped away from him the life he'd been supposed to have. Everything he had known and cared about was now closed to him – werewolves did not belong in Pureblood society. His father would not own him, either, he was sure of that.

He would have to leave.

This thought, Draco faced with uncharacteristic courage. He felt a wild excitement in the midst of his despair. There is always a certain excitement in new beginnings, after all, no matter how terrifying they may be.

In the meantime, conversations with his mother were difficult and hurt both of them. They were two haunted people, stranded on either side of an unleapable abyss.

"How did it happen?" she had asked, once. Draco had turned his head away.

"Does that matter?" he said bitterly. "How do you think it happened?"

They did not speak of the bite again.

Draco assumed that his mother had the same assumption that he had – that before the Change, he would have to leave. But sometimes, when he caught the look of love in her eyes, he wondered if he had been wrong – if perhaps she didn't know, and he would have to tell her.

The thought was more terrifying than the thought of suffering the bite again.

She came upon him packing his things, five days before the full moon. The surprise and dawning horror in her eyes showed him that she had not foreseen.

"What are you doing, Draco?" – and he heard the danger underneath the perfectly controlled modulation of her voice.

"I'm – " The words refused to pass through his suddenly dry mouth.

"Draco," Narcissa tried again. "You are not planning to leave here?"

With a tremendous effort, he swallowed, and stood up to face her. "Yes Mother, I'm leaving." He struggled for the words to explain that this had not been desired, but inevitable, but could only make a hopeless gesture with his hands. "I'm leaving because I'm a werewolf."

He paused. "You know that already, so why are you asking?"

"No." Narcissa's voice was hard as steel, and in that moment he knew he had misunderstood her. "You are not planning to leave here," she repeated, and this time he knew that it hadn't been a question.

He met her eyes again and saw them burning with something akin to madness; the skin pulled taut over the writhing muscles of a face that still, somehow, managed to be beautiful.

"There are potions, spells – there must be – that can help you. You will stay here, at the Manor, safe, until I know what to do next. It will be fine, Draco. It won't matter – in the end – if we manage it – your condition doesn't matter. Not to me. Not to Lucius. We'll find a way to fix this."

"You don't understand," he whispered. "You'll never find a way to fix this. The only way to even control what – what I am – is to take Wolfsbane Potion every month, a potion so complex to make you would only be able to get it from an expert. Is this what you want? The wizard you buy it from in Diagon Alley will know why the Malfoys are buying Wolfsbane Potion. Word will get around – that the Malfoy heir is a werewolf – dirty – impure. I can't live with that, Mother." _And you're wrong,_ he added inwardly. _Father will never accept me._

"You're raving," said Narcissa dismissively, though he heard the badly hidden unease in her tone. "No one will know. No one would guess. Can you not trust me for once, Draco?"

"But…Hogwarts." It was his last desperate appeal to reason.

He saw her eyes widen. She hadn't thought it through. But she rallied with a confidence born of years of balancing the pride of pureblood families on her head.

"Trust me, Draco. I'll find a way. Lucius was not on the Board of Governors for nothing. I will make sure – in strict confidence, of course – your future at the school is assured. And, if not – there are other ways; other paths that you can take."

"Mother," Draco's whisper, too, contained shards of ice. "Look the facts in the face. If you keep me with you, you will regret it for the rest of both our lives. You may not regret it now, but trust me when I say you will, when you see the Malfoy name lying lower than the dust beneath our feet. Merlin knows I know both of us well enough for that. I'm sorry, Mother."

It was the catch in his voice that warned her – the slightest quiver of a desperate laugh. She drew her wand not a second too soon, her reflexive Shield Charm just in time for the Curse that had somersaulted towards her from Draco's own wand. He was crouched in a duelling stance, eyes steely with desperation. He sent another hex towards her, then another, all of them, she realised, aiming to overcome her shield and Stun or paralyse her.

If he could only get past that blasted Shield – Stun her somehow – Obliviate her… escape. It would be the best solution. For everyone.

And then Draco's world imploded into a sensation of flying through the air, quickly followed by blackness.

* * *

 _A/N: So, what do you think? I'd appreciate any feedback - particularly on how I'm going with characterisation and dialogue, because that's one aspect I find quite hard._

 _Thank you for reading!_


	3. D'Autres Lendemains Part 2

**Chapter 2. D'Autres Lendemains**

 _Donnez-leur la main/Pour les mener à d'autres lendemains  
Give them your hand/To lead them to other tomorrows (Les Choristes)_

 _PART 2._

 _Disclaimer: I own neither the wizarding world nor its characters. They both belong to J.K. Rowling._

 _A/N. So here is Part Two - very much later! I'm very sorry for the delay - every time I thought I'd have the time to write (finally), something else cropped up! Thank you all for all your support: once again the reviews, favourites and follows blew my mind and warmed my heart. Thank you especially to Lupinescence for reviewing again, and to theangelsarecoming for being so encouraging, not to mention patient with me - I must have promised an update at least four times in the last three weeks, only to go back on my promise... Also to IceQueenForLife for reviewing. You are very kind and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! I'm afraid it may be rather slow however - a bit of a filler chapter. And sorry for mammoth author's note :P_

* * *

 ** _TRIAL OF NOTORIOUS WEREWOLF FENRIR GREYBACK SCHEDULED FOR THE 30_** ** _th_** ** _JULY_**

 ** _Rita Skeeter, Correspondent for_ The ****Daily Prophet _in the absence of Regular Correspondent Amy Watkins_**

 _Following a series of attacks in various parts of Muggle London, the infamous shape-shifter was finally apprehended late last Tuesday night (Wednesday morning) in Little Whinging, Surrey, right outside the door, indeed, of Harry Potter himself. Though the Aurors present at the scene refused to reveal even the slightest smidgeon of interesting information, speculation is rife and uneasiness widespread. The location of the attack defies coincidence, and it is generally agreed that this was the latest in a long line of attempts on the part of You-Know-Who's supporters to assassinate Mr Potter, who, however, appears – I quote a Muggle poet of the sixteenth century – to "bear a charmed life"._

 _Though rumours that the Boy Who Lived himself fell victim to the werewolf's fangs were forcefully denied by the Aurors who handled the case, it remains to be seen whether Mr Potter has something to hide. Certainly he has not been seen in public since the attack, a fact that has (rightly) raised suspicions in the minds of many a discerning witch and wizard. Meanwhile, there are others who claim that an unidentified person was present at the scene and bore the brunt of Greyback's murderous assault. With the full moon fast approaching, doubtless the truth will out. In the meantime, however, the wizarding community waits in suspense._

 _Greyback himself is scheduled to stand trial before the Wizengamot on the 30_ _th_ _July at precisely 3:25 in the afternoon. It will be an open trial. With an impressive criminal record already to his name, and many in the wizarding community baying for his blood, we fear that Greyback the werewolf faces a grim fate indeed._

* * *

Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming upwards through mercury. The first thing of which Draco became aware was a throbbing skull, as though the mercury were real, but solidified, and he had to break through it headfirst to reach the air. He let out an involuntary whimper, and the sharpness of the sound jolted his eyes open.

Hands, pale, slender and nail-bitten, lying on pale cloth. The topmost one twitched, and he realised it was his own. He curled the fingers into a fist, missing something that should have been there, but unable to figure out what it was.

The rest of his body must be somewhere nearby, though he couldn't feel his limbs, only a vague sensation of warmth. Right foot first. To his relief, sensation came back, and he realised he was lying on his side.

He pushed himself suddenly upright. Bad move. Dizziness enveloped the world in a buzzing grey haze, but he refused to lie back down, and the haze soon cleared.

He was in the dungeons at Malfoy Manor. He could recognise it instantly, despite the care someone had taken to make it vaguely habitable (the mattress that he was lying on, the assortment of potions and a substantial dinner waiting on a table by his side, were all new additions). The haze inside his brain seemed to thicken. What was he doing in the dungeon of his own house? He couldn't remember - there was something inside his head - perhaps the pain - that made it impossible to remember. Couldn't - really - think - head - hurts...

 _There was a spell for this,_ Draco thought, over the noise of the drums that continued to pound somewhere behind his forehead.

And, exactly two seconds later, he realised what was wrong with this picture - what had been bothering him since he woke up probably around five minutes before.

He didn't have his wand.

And then his eyes flickered across to the piece of paper lying on the table, beside the potions and the food.

After a cleverly executed hex left Draco (for the moment) unconscious at the other end of the room, Narcissa had moved quickly. First, she'd expertly checked Draco for concussion using a spell she knew from the course in Healing she'd taken during a year of boredom in her early twenties, wincing as her hands discovered the blood congealing at the back of his head. Nevertheless, she was unable to suppress some satisfaction that her spells had lost none of their power since being named the unofficial female duelling champion of Hogwarts when still only in fourth year. As her enemies had discovered, Narcissa Black was far more than just a pretty face, and that had not changed when she became Narcissa Malfoy.

After restoring the room to its usual state of pristine neatness and healing the shallow flesh wound at the back of Draco's head, Narcissa stood, breathing rapidly, while she contemplated her options. She could not let Draco go free, that much was certain; he would only make plans to leave her once again. She must find a way to confine him until the full moon was over and she could reason with him once again.

The most obvious option was his room; but it overlooked the garden, and would be easy to escape from, were a single loophole to be found in the spells she intended to put on it. Moreover, who knew what magical items Draco might keep there? There, too, were all his belongings: easily obtained and fled with.

There remained the dungeons. Two of the six cells were already occupied, of course, by a couple of traitors that Voldemort had delivered into Lucius' care the previous year, and who had been slowly mouldering down there ever since. Narcissa tried not to think about them too much; with Lucius gone, their predicament was too disturbingly similar to her own isolated existence. She had assigned two house elves to take them their food and clean their cells, and conveniently forgotten about them.

Well, she supposed she would have to face her fears. She left Draco on the carpet (under _Petrificus Totalis_ just to be sure) while she went downstairs to refurbish the least damp cell into something vaguely comfortable and cheering, and to further secure the place. She spared a passing glance for the prisoners, too: they looked miserable enough, but alive, and reasonably well fed. Good enough for the present. They were not her concern. Lucius could deal with them when he was released.

She left Draco, in the end, on the bed with a light blanket over him, and some potions on a table nearby to ease the headache he would doubtless have when he awoke. Also on the table was a letter.

Out of everything, it was the letter that had taken the longest to write. Narcissa knew that when Draco woke up, he would likely have fairly significant memory loss of the last day or so. This put her in a predicament, for if Draco had forgotten his intention to leave, then the last thing she wanted to do was remind him of it. On the other hand, if she explained too little, she risked him waking up in terror and confusion, perhaps imagining that he was being punished or that the Manor had somehow been attacked and its inhabitants incarcerated in their own dungeon. At last, however, all was managed to her satisfaction.

Her spells were wrought secure; her precautions taken. Her son had no way of leaving without her knowledge now; not without his own wand, at any rate.

Narcissa looked down at the long thin rod of hawthorn in her hand, and smiled.

* * *

 _ **VERDICT ON GREYBACK CASE REACHED: CONTROVERSY DIVIDES THE WIZARDING WORLD**_

 ** _Rita Skeeter, Correspondent for_ The ****Daily Prophet**

 _Outrage on all sides is evident in the aftermath of the trial of notorious serial killer and werewolf Fenrir Greyback, which took place on Wednesday in a high-security area of the Wizengamot headquarters. Greyback's sentence of life imprisonment in Azkaban has drawn outcry from those who believe that the sentence is too lenient. "[Greyback] has caused so much pain and grief", one quinquagenarian is quoted as saying. "He deserves no less than the Dementor's Kiss for his crimes, and for the Wizengamot to be so lenient with his sentence is to belittle the suffering of those whose lives he has touched for the worse."_

 _Meanwhile, suspicions that Harry Potter (otherwise known as the 'Boy Who Lived') may have been Greyback's final victim are garnering new momentum from the presence of Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, the renowned wizarding school that Mr Potter attends, at the trial. Famous, however, for his discretion, no information was forthcoming from the white-bearded patriarch. Nevertheless, the idea that the hero of the wizarding world may now have other scars to accompany the famous one on his forehead seems to have upset many a member of the populace, and - to use a Muggle idiom - Greyback's popularity seems definitely to have waned._

 _Amid this atmosphere of resentment and revulsion, however, a few isolated voices have been heard crying for change of a different kind. The humanity of keeping a werewolf confined in Azkaban has been questioned, as have the precise particulars of the operation. The most commonly asked question has been whether the criminal concerned will be allowed access to Wolfsbane Potion when his time comes to transform. In any case, however, with the full moon tonight, it is too late: Wolfsbane Potion requires regular consumption over the period of a week to be at all efficacious._

 _Meanwhile, we urge all citizens to be wary tonight, and to avoid open spaces and deserted locations. Who knows where another of Greyback's kind may be lurking? And just remember: if you hear a howl - run!_

* * *

This must be what purgatory felt like. The pain of transforming - it was as though someone was breaking all his bones and reforming them into a hideous caricature of his former self. Which, he supposed, was what was happening.

It was his last rational thought for some time, as through the pain the blood thirst rose to engulf him like a tide of fire.

* * *

Harry's birthday should have been a good day.

Ron and Hermione had both sent him large packages by owl, much to the Dursleys' disgust. Indeed, Pigwidgeon had topped it all off by leaving a slightly more unpleasant gift on Petunia's head, causing her to shriek and run to the bathroom as though pursued by a swarm of Cornish Pixies. Nor would she reemerge from the shower for a full hour and a half, which was how long it took for her to be assured that her greying hair had been completely cleansed from the revolting substance.

In former years, Harry knew, the consequence of this would have been the severest punishment that the Dursleys' small minds could devise. Now, however, it was limited to noxious glares. His relatives had been far too overawed by Lupin and Moody's warning at the beginning of the summer to lay a hand on Harry.

Dear Remus. He, too, had sent Harry a letter and a small yet surprisingly intricate gift. It was a self-inking quill in red and gold, nestled in a velvety case. Harry looked at it and felt a pang: he knew how limited his friend's resources were, and he hated the thought that Remus might have made some disproportionate sacrifice for the sake of giving him a birthday surprise.

Ron and Hermione's packages contained mostly food; however, there were also five pairs of socks from Ron (Harry suspected Mrs Weasley's involvement) and a book from Hermione entitled 'Essential Study Skills for the NEWT Student'. Also a card apiece. Hermione's read,

"[...] I hope you find the book useful. I thought it was an appropriate gift given that you might want some light reading over the holidays.

"That was purely to make you smile. Having known you for five years, I know that you won't even look inside the cover of that book unless I force you to. But I thought that you probably need something to make you laugh, even at me, after all that has happened.

"I worry about you, Harry. Especially as you haven't been answering letters. I know that Ron's worried too. So, if you aren't busy, I wonder if you would mind dropping us a quick line? Tell us how you are, whether Dudley has got any fatter if there's nothing else to tell. Most of all, I want you to know how much both of us care about you. If you can't bring yourself to write or talk much, that's okay. Just drop us a line to reassure us that everything's all right and that (I quote Ron) the Dursleys haven't killed you and buried your body in a hole somewhere.

"But about the light reading - I'll give you this hint: the book isn't what it seems. I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out. Just think back to last year's Transfiguration classes.

Love,

Hermione."

It should have been a good day. The old Harry would have been utterly and unequivocally happy at such attention from his friends. But now, it was as though there was an ache so deep inside him, nothing could penetrate so far enough to soothe the pain: not kindness, amusement or even love. There came upon Harry the realisation, as it had in Dumbledore's office after Sirius fell through the veil, that nothing would ever be the same again. Not just Sirius, but the old Harry, too, was gone for good.

And Harry had no sooner reached this conclusion than he heard the front doorbell ring.

A quick glance at the clock in the hallway confirmed his suspicion that it was far too late for any normal visitor to be calling - night was well established, and the Dursleys were already in bed. With a feeling that would have been excitement if not for the emptiness swirling inside him, Harry ran down the stairs, wand at the ready, and opened the door.

He was unable to suppress a gasp. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting: probably Lupin, or Dumbledore; but it was certainly not this: a slim and slightly smirking visitor with weary grey eyes and bloodied silver hair.

The apparition spoke.

"Surprised to see me, Potter? Well, mind if I crash the party for a bit?"

And, without giving Harry time to wonder how on earth Malfoy knew his birthday (or whether he was just saying "party" for the sake of it), let alone recollect himself enough to ask the other boy what the hell he was doing here, let alone take in just how battered and bloodied his visitor was, Draco fainted.

Or rather: crumpled. Slowly and ungracefully, into Harry's surprised and decidedly unwelcoming arms.

* * *

 _A/N. So, what do you think? Remember: reviews are always welcome. If they were 3D I'd hug them. (I would also hug the reviewers if I could but unfortunately that's also usually not possible)_

 _Thank you for reading! I hope to update again soon, but no promises. Until then, have a lovely life!_


	4. Of Dursleys and Carpets

**Chapter 3. Of Dursleys and Carpets**

 _Content warning: a LOT of yelling._

 _Disclaimer: I own neither the wizarding world nor its characters. They both belong to J.K. Rowling_

 _A/N. I'm back! And I'm on holidays at the moment, hence the interval of less than a month from when I last updated! I was so thrilled by the response to the last chapter, especially the reviews._

 _theangelsarecoming - Thanks for another lovely in depth review, for reviewing every single chapter I've posted so far without fail, and for encouraging me in all my writing, not just this fic :)  
Sakura Liesel - I have to say your little "rant", if I may call it that, was pretty amusing. It also touched me no end because it seems that I have succeeded in making you invested in this story! Thanks so much  
IceQueenForLife - I meant to reply to your review but forgot! Probably just as well as I had no intention of giving you any spoilers  
Shout out to mmolinari and WiseGirl016 for your reviews as well!  
NatNicole - Thank you :) And don't worry, I don't write slash, and Draco chatting to Remus is one of the key scenes I want to put in, though it will be a while in coming :P_

 _Shout out to Tatty and Dragon for being the 20th follower :)_

 ** _Thanks to theangelsarecoming, who mentioned her surprise at how self assured Draco seemed here, I decided that it was unrealistic, and I've made a few changes._**

 _Without further ado: on with the story! Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Oh, Merlin.

Standing in the doorway at a quarter to midnight, supporting the limp form of bloody _Malfoy_ as though he were a long-lost lover or something instead of the fourth most insufferable git in existence (after Voldemort, Snape and Uncle Vernon), Harry James Potter was beginning to seriously question whatever Fates were ruling his life right now.

It didn't seem as though things could get any worse, but when Harry heard a shriek behind him, he knew that they definitely had.

Oh, _Merlin._

Bracing himself, he pulled Malfoy fully inside and propped him carefully against the door frame, and shut the door before turning to face the irate form of Petunia. She was a sight both frightening and ridiculous, in a too-large dressing gown and slippers, hair sticking in all directions. Harry thought of Pigwidgeon and had to suppress an utterly inappropriate snicker.

He heard Petunia draw breath, presumably in preparation for a tirade, and braced himself for the storm to break.

"WHAT THE _HELL_ IS GOING ON HERE?"

It wasn't Petunia, but Uncle Vernon, puffing down the stairs like an express train, small eyes screwed up against the glare of the automatic porch light (installed that very summer), index finger pointed at Harry accusingly.

"Vernon…." Petunia sounded as if she was about to start hyperventilating with outrage. "He's brought one of those…those _freaks_ here! And – _oh! Look at my carpet! What have you done, you_ FREAK!"

This last was shouted into Draco's face, as she advanced menacingly to inspect the blood stains. Harry retreated uncomfortably against the wall, deciding it was safer not to point out that the definition of "having fainted" is "unable-to-respond-no-matter-how-much-you-yell-at-them".

"BOY!"

Harry looked up sharply, and felt vaguely alarmed at just how purple his uncle's face was becoming.

"REMOVE THIS INTRUDER AT ONCE, DO YOU HEAR? I DON'T CARE WHATEVER THOSE FREAKS YOUR FRIENDS MAY SAY, I WILL LAY HANDS ON YOU IF YOU DO NOT GET THIS TRESPASSER OUT OF MY HOUSE _NOW!_ "

Harry opened his mouth to say, "It's not quite so simple as that," but was drowned out by both of his relatives shouting at once.

From Petunia: " _Just you wait till we remove this FREAK, boy! You'll be scrubbing my carpet until it's absolutely crystal clean, is that CLEAR?"_

From Vernon: "YOU'VE GONE TOO FAR THIS TIME, BOY! WE MIGHTN'T BE ABLE TO PUNISH YOU ANY MORE LIKE YOU DESERVE, BUT YOU'LL BE GETTING THE TALKING TO OF YOUR LIFE AFTER THIS!"

Harry was starting to get seriously annoyed. He hadn't asked for Draco bloody _Malfoy_ to turn up on the doorstep in the middle of the night, any more than they had. Plus, the noise was making his ears hurt. He drew breath, prepared to start yelling in his turn, when a quiet voice made both Harry and Uncle Vernon stop dead, and Petunia jump backwards with a shriek.

"Would all you ignorant Muggles stop shouting? You're going to damage my ears."

It was possibly the first time Harry and Draco had been in agreement in both of their respective lives (apart from the fact that Draco seemed to have included him in his reference to "ignorant Muggles").

"Oh, and for the record, unlike Potter here, I'm not a _freak._ I am also perfectly capable of turning you both into cockroaches. So I suggest you act with a little more _decorum_ while I am staying with you."

Harry spared his relatives a quick glance, and had to suppress a chuckle at the identical looks on their faces. Both of them were ashy-faced and staring at Draco, flabbergasted. Malfoy, for his part, looked deadly: silver eyes coldly aflame, wand hand pointing straight at the Dursleys.

Vernon gulped audibly.

Malfoy swept them with his cold stare once more before allowing his lips to curl into a smirk.

"I'm staying, and that's final."

The Dursleys as one began to retreat. "I might just…leave you to deal with this…then…lad", puffed Vernon. He looked as though calling Harry "lad" had physically given him indigestion. A quiet chuckle from behind him made Harry look round sharply, unable to believe that it had come from Malfoy.

Draco had slumped further into the wall, and closed his eyes, but there was a smile of wry amusement still on his lips. Harry noticed that the hand that had held the wand so steadily a moment earlier was now trembling lightly; also the blood stains continuing to spread outwards onto the carpet.

"You really are a mess, aren't you," he muttered, kneeling down beside his nemesis. He certainly still loathed Malfoy, but that was now alloyed with a certain admiration and even pity, remembering that the Slytherin most likely faced rejection by his own kind now that he was a werewolf.

Draco's eyes opened but he didn't quite have the strength to glare. "Not…at all."

"As you wish." Harry shrugged. "Can you walk?"

The Slytherin looked slightly green. "I'm not…sure."

"Well, I can't exactly carry you," said Harry. He had not meant it as a jibe, but Draco's mouth tightened in anger while two bright spots appeared above his cheekbones. He tried to get to his feet by bracing himself against the wall, but fell back wincing, though still managing to give Harry a baleful glare.

"Care to give me a hand, Potter?" he demanded roughly.

With a rare flash of insight, it struck the other boy just how demeaning it must seem to the Slytherin to be sick and helpless in a Muggle house, forced to ask Harry Potter for help. He coloured in his turn and quickly extended a hand. He had to grab Draco's arm and shoulder to pull him up, and though his hand came away bloody, the other boy didn't make a sound. Then came the long, painful hobble up the stairs towards Harry's bedroom.

Draco slumped bonelessly onto the bed as soon as they got there, cold beads of sweat coating his forehead. Harry was no Madam Pomfrey, but this really didn't look good.

"You should be in St Mungo's right now," he said without thinking.

"Don't be an idiot," Draco replied. "Do you _really_ think I'd have showed up at your pathetic doorstep if I had anywhere else to go?" His voice struck the Gryffindor as odd. There was something raw, pained in it, just as there had been when he asked Harry for help.

"No," Harry admitted, "I guess not."

"No wonder you fail at Potions if this is the sort of area you study in."

Harry looked around the room, noticing for the first time just how disorderly he'd let it become. Only Hedwig's cage was clean and neat; the rest of the room resembled the aftermath of an explosion. Dirty clothes were piled in a heap by the bed, and he'd left his birthday presents in a heap on the table, torn wrapping paper, sticky tape and all. His quill lay sticky and congealing on a half-written essay, marked with blots, and, he realised with horror, the buckling of paper that indicated tears. He glanced quickly at Draco to see if he'd seen it, but the blonde had shut his eyes, so he crumpled it up and threw it into a corner.

As he could hardly deny Draco's accusation, Harry went on the offensive.

"And what about you, Malfoy? You owe me an explanation."

"Why, what do you think I've done? Accidentally eaten my mother and all my house-elves while in werewolf form the other night? Don't act like you didn't know."

Harry's eyes widened. "Did you?"

"No, you moron. But I did Obliviate my mother." He continued, ignoring Harry's gasp of " _What?!"_

"Look, I'll give you the whole explanation later, but for now I'm bleeding, exhausted, and it's only a matter of time before a pack of Aurors turn up on your doorstep. They'll be able to track my Apparition."

"But…hang on…you're not seventeen, any more than I am! You're not _allowed_ to Apparate!"

"Maybe _you_ aren't." Draco smirked. "I have… _connections._ "

"Ugh!" Harry couldn't suppress a shudder of disgust. "So your father pulled strings for his spoiled brat of a son, did he? No matter, you still haven't told me why you expect me to cover for you when the Aurors do turn up."

"Do I need to?" Draco smirked again. "You know as well as I do that it's against your stupid Gryffindor pride to turn anyone in, even if they're your mortal enemy and all that melodrama. You'd rather duel me yourself and be done with it."

"I'll have to make sure you don't die on me first, in that case," Harry retorted. "But don't be so sure. I don't have many scruples when it comes to slimy gits like you, Malfoy."

"Whatever. In any case, it's irrelevant. Even your tiny brain must surely have realised by now that the only future for me now is to join your side. The _Light_ Side," he sneered. "Merlin knows you've committed your share of atrocities. All that Malfoy blood purity, preserved for generations, all for nothing. So here I am, an outcast from my own family, at the doorstep of The Boy Who Has None. You're still mourning the mutt, I see. Well, now I'm just like you! I hope that makes you happy."

Harry was speechless. His first impulse of aching pity for the Slytherin was succeeded quickly by fury.

"How DARE you call Sirius a mutt!" he screamed into Draco's face. "And how DARE you tell me that I would be happy for anyone, ANYONE to be going through what I've had to live with for the past FIFTEEN YEARS!"

"Sixteen."

"What?" Harry stopped mid-rant.

"I said sixteen. Isn't it your birthday? Or…wait, that can't be right, because weren't you one or two years old when – "

"Whatever, Malfoy. I'm sick of the sight of you."

"Maybe. But you're still going to lie for me."

Instead of answering, Harry switched off the lights before curling up on the floor with his back to the other boy. It was a warm night, so he didn't bother with a blanket. In any case, it would have been hard to drag one from underneath the Slytherin's dead weight.

In the dark, Draco lay awake, struggling to control a rising tide of anxiety. He wasn't nearly as confident as he had said of the fact that Harry wouldn't betray him. But eventually weariness and pain won out, his head dropped onto the pillow and he slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted.

* * *

Half an hour later, Harry sat bolt upright, horrified.

He'd forgotten about the carpet. It was all stained near the doorway with Draco's blood. If only he could use magic to clean it!

He would have to hide it before the Aurors arrived. Grabbing a small torch he kept precisely for such midnight ventures during the summer, when he couldn't just use _Lumos_ , he padded quietly downstairs.

Careful inspection of the carpet ascertained that it could indeed be simply detached from the floorboards and rolled up. However, this was easier said than done due to the weight and size of this particular strip of carpet, and the fact that the sofa served to pin it firmly to the floor. It took a lot of shuffling and puffing, and Harry banged his shin, but finally the entire carpet was in a long roll at one end of the room. The Dursleys must have heard the noise, but were presumably too cowed by Draco's presence in their house to intervene. He then dragged the carpet into the dining room, stowing it unobtrusively against the wall. Hopefully he'd be able to deflect the Aurors in their search before they got that far.

He went upstairs again to get something to scrub the blood stains on the stairs with. An old T-shirt, handed down from Dudley, was the first thing he found, so he set to work with that. He had just finished scrubbing the last stain when he heard a familiar _pop,_ followed by a second _pop._

Cursing, he wadded the T-shirt into a ball and threw it into the dark recesses of his room, then pulled the door shut. He messed up his hair and rubbed his eyes to make it seem as though he'd just woken up. Hopefully they wouldn't notice the fact that he wasn't wearing pyjamas.

Some flash of insight that must have come straight from Merlin told him that he shouldn't be in any hurry to answer the door, lest it seem suspicious. So he waited a few seconds after the bell rang before heading downstairs once more. He pulled the door open and did his best impression of a confused face.

To his astonishment, this expression seemed to be mirrored on the faces of the two very young Aurors standing at the door.

After making several attempts at speech, but with no sound coming out, the taller and older-looking of the two (which isn't saying much) managed to squeak out,

"But you're _Harry Potter!"_

* * *

 ** _NEW SPATE OF DEATH EATER ATTACKS IN NORFOLK AND LINCOLNSHIRE_**

 ** _Keiron Cartwright, Correspondent for_** **The Daily Prophet**

 _It was a calm, ordinary night in Britain, but unbeknownst to the wider community a group of ruthless killers was about to strike. At 7:36 p.m. last night the Auror Office had word of the first killing, of a Muggle family in Norfolk. By 8:57 p.m., five other families had been attacked, including a Muggle-born wizarding family, the Bellingers, and the Auror Office decided to mobilise its full forces to avert even more terrible tragedies before they occurred._

 _Nevertheless, fourteen families in Norfolk and Lincolnshire have been wiped out, including three wizarding families, and the whole of Britain is mourning this terrible tragedy. In the wake of this devastation, normal precautions for the Obliviation of Muggles have been set aside in favour of closely working with the devastated communities in an attempt to bring some peace of mind._

 _Both the Muggle P.M. and the Minister of Magic have stated that they will do all they can to help the citizens of Britain in this unsettling and tragic time, revealing to the public a degree of cooperation and understanding between the magical and Muggle ministers that seems to have existed without our knowledge for several decades. "You-Know-Who's aim is to tear apart the wizarding world from the Muggles," our Minister Cornelius Fudge has stated. "But on behalf of the wizarding community of Britain I defy that intent. By standing strong together we will foil the threats of this tyrant."_

 _However, Fudge himself is currently not enjoying the favour of the populace, and a strong pressure group would like to label the M.O.M. himself as a "tyrant". Cornelius Fudge's days in office may well be numbered, and this has been exacerbated by the failure of Aurors and the Ministry to capture most of the Death Eaters responsible for these attacks. In particular, Bellatrix Lestrange, rumoured to have been responsible for over seventy Muggle deaths last night alone, is still on the loose. These are indeed tense times for Britain._

* * *

 _A/N. So, what did you think? I'd really appreciate it if you left a review!  
(I realise that the automatic light is very probably an anachronism, but I can't be bothered checking.)  
Thank you for reading! Hopefully I'll update soon, but again, no promises! Have a great week :)_


	5. Dan, Phil and Nightmares

**Chapter 4. Dan, Phil and Nightmares**

 _Disclaimer: I own neither the wizarding world nor its characters. They both belong to J.K. Rowling._

 _A.N. I'm back! Finally! So sorry for the long hiatus due to exams and nasty real-life stuff like that, but year 12 is over now, so I have more time :D_

 _Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/favourited/followed the last chapter, hopefully I don't miss anyone in the acknowledgements:  
_ _theangelsarecoming: You are seriously the best! I hope this chapter amuses you ;)  
lunaz, Guest, CaitlenC89, dreamflower02: Thank you so much for your encouragement, hopefully the story doesn't disappoint!  
Musicangel913: I'm so nervous now because I think I've forgotten how to write Draco and Harry! O.o But seriously, thanks for the review!_

 _Speaking of which sorry if this chapter is kind of...weird. (You'll see what I mean: some of you may already have guessed from the title) And I think my writing style has changed :/ Must be all those essays. Hopefully the next chapter will read more smoothly._

* * *

He's running through the forest, ducking in and out of the shadows of the trees, every breath stabbing at his lungs. The moon is shining through the trees, as clear, almost, as sunlight.

Laughing. Mocking his despair.

 _You never learn, do you?_

His teeth are coated with metallic stickiness, his tongue throbbing with his heartbeat. His ankle twists sickeningly on a branch, but he is still running, sharp tears stinging his eyes. Oh, the irony.

 _You fool. You won't escape._

The wolf behind him snarls. His heart feels cold and heavy, no longer a mass of muscle, but a grotesque balloon full of water, barely able to keep beating. How long has he been running? How much longer can he go on?

The wolf is closer now. He meets its two yellow lamps as it springs and waits for the pain to obliterate all conscious thought.

He looks instead into his mother's terrified eyes. The snarls are his snarls, the claws his claws. He can feel nothing except the hunger that makes the whole world burn around him. He would do anything to make it stop.

So he kills her, fangs ripping deep into her chest and tearing out her heart. Her grey eyes are lifeless now, her body a bloody mess, but her lips still move. She is saying one thing, over and over, but a screaming haze has descended over him, making him unable to hear.

Bending close to read her lips he makes out the words

words

words.

Then he is falling, falling, falling, falling through ice and flames that blister his skin and stop his breath but none of it matters because his mother loves him loves him loves him and he just killed her killed her killed her.

* * *

 _To his astonishment, this expression seemed to be mirrored on the faces of the two very young Aurors standing at the door._

 _After making several attempts at speech, but with no sound coming out, the taller and older-looking of the two (which isn't saying much) managed to squeak out,_

 _"But you're Harry Potter!"_

At this point Harry decided he was just too tired and annoyed to be polite.

"No, I'm absolutely no one," he retorted. "Aren't you supposed to be Aurors not paparazzi?"

 _Merlin, is Malfoy rubbing off on me already?_

Malfoy-tactics or not, the sarcasm worked. The Aurors immediately began to look sheepish, and cast each other sideways glances. Then the shorter one, a boy who he swore must have been his own age - only that wasn't possible, surely? - awkwardly cleared his throat.

"We have a warrant to arrest Narcissa Malfoy, suspect for the recent disappearance of Draco Malfoy."

The expression of fake bewilderment that Harry had been carefully preparing was forgotten in favour of one of completely real confusion. _Narcissa Malfoy? I thought she was lying on the floor of Malfoy Manor with her memory wiped or something._ Aloud, he managed an articulate "Huh?"

The shorter Auror whipped out a crumpled but still official-looking roll of paper. "Evidence obtained from analysing the effect of magic on inanimate objects within a six-foot radius indicates that Narcissa Malfoy, spouse of the currently incarcerated Lucius Malfoy, attempted to Obliviate herself twice before leaving the Manor for an unknown destination. It is suspected that her decision to wipe her memory was prompted by a wish to conceal information in some way related to her husband's status as a Death Eater, and/or her son's disappearance, in case of capture. Furthermore - "

The taller Auror, who looked closer to twenty, and whose bright green hair could have been dye or evidence of Metamorphagic abilities, had been looking uneasily at his companion throughout this speech, and now interrupted him. "Dan, I think that might be classified information," he muttered in his ear.

Dan's eyes widened and he stuttered to a halt. "So, um...Mr. Potter..." The taller Auror was clearly trying to redeem the situation but seemed unable to get his tongue under control. "The - the thing is, um, the D-Department of Transport (I think) was able to track the Apparition... Sorry, I'm not explaining this well. They were able to track Narcissa's route of Apparition using her own wand, and it led them to your house, Mr Potter."

Harry did his best to produce a blank stare, but behind it his brain was working furiously. _So Malfoy somehow framed his mother to be responsible for his disappearance, and then took her wand after Obliviating her with it. But they couldn't find her at the Manor, so she must have taken another wand and left. But why did she leave if she couldn't remember anything? And how did the Aurors know to come to the Manor if they hadn't been alerted by Malfoy's underage magic?_

"Mr Potter?" Harry realised that the Aurors must have asked him a question he had been too preoccupied to hear.

"You were not disturbed earlier in the night? You didn't see a woman with long blonde hair?"

"Umm, no, I don't think so." Harry hoped he was being convincing. The Aurors looked at each other. "What do we do now?" the taller one whispered. "I think we search the house," the younger one whispered back.

"Umm...we're terribly sorry, Mr Potter, but we're going to have to search the house." _Oh, no._

Harry groaned loudly. "My aunt and uncle are asleep, they're going to be furious." He was buying time now, praying desperately that something would make them go away before they had a chance to see the upstairs bedroom, or for that matter the bloody carpet rolled up in the dining room.

The Aurors were conversing in whispers again. They clearly didn't know what to do. _But if Malfoy and Mrs Malfoy disappearing was all that important, then why do they send this two bumbling idiots who clearly don't know what they're doing, to investigate?_ It didn't add up, and that was making even Harry uneasy.

"I can kind of sympathise. I mean, I used to have a friend who had an aunt who went to bed at 7 p.m. each night and yelled at the neighbours for _whispering_ too loudly in the evenings, I mean, I'd hate having to live with her..."

"For Merlin's sake, Phil, we can't just bloody _not_ search the house because you sympathise with someone's aunt - "

"I didn't say I was sympathising with the aunt - "

"Whatever, then. My point is - "

"BOY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING THIS TIME?" Harry sighed for dramatic effect, while inwardly feeling relieved. Hopefully this would make the Aurors go away...if only his uncle didn't mention Malfoy. He also noticed with some amusement that Vernon was by now a little hoarse. Aloud, he said,

" _Now_ do you see what I mean?"

Dan opened his mouth and seemed about to insist that they still search the house, but Phil's conscience had got the better of him. He began to retreat, dragging Dan with him.

As they disappeared into the blackness of the unlit garden, Harry thought he heard one of them say,

"That was so surreal."

* * *

"Malfoy! Malfoy?" Someone was shaking him, someone whose nails were digging into his shoulder and who shook him back and forth in fast, panicked jerks. As awareness returned he realised it was Potter, now muttering angrily through his teeth,

"Of - all - the - wretched - birthday - oh Merlin, just wake up, will you? - did - NOT - want - ferret - having - seizures..."

With an effort, for Potter was now shaking him so hard his teeth rattled, Draco gritted out,

"You can probably stop shaking the ferret now that he's awake, you know, Potter."

The expression on Potter's face was priceless, not least because it was so obvious he had been scared and was trying to hide it, but Draco had less than a moment to savour it before it was replaced by a look best described as one of suspicion and disgust.

"You framed your mother, didn't you, Malfoy? Those Aurors were looking for her."

"They have gone now, I assume?" Draco's apparent unconcern masked the unease he really felt.

"Luckily for you, they had no idea what they were doing, and left as soon as Vernon started yelling," said Harry. "And you haven't answered my question."

Just for a second, Draco's cool grey eyes flickered away from Potter's. "Essentially - yes."

"What kind of git are you, Malfoy?" Potter sounded genuinely curious, but for the darker undertones of loathing in his voice.

"A very clever one." Draco leant forward, elbows on knees, wincing as his bruised muscles protested against the movement. "You see, Potter, if I had told you the truth, you would never have been able to lie well enough to convince those Aurors that you really didn't know anything. I had to let you believe that I really was unbelievably stupid enough to just, you know, not cover my tracks at all. Oh, forgive me, I forget that's exactly what you would have done. My apologies, Potter, I underestimated your stupidity, just as I had to let you underestimate my _innate Malfoy brilliance_ \- "

"You know, if I didn't think you were insane, I would have punched you by now," said Potter quietly. His tone made Draco sit up slightly in surprise: he had expected Potter to be driven to fury by his goading, but instead he seemed quite calm, a gleam in his eyes that the Slytherin knew didn't bode well.

 _I wonder what Potter is playing at?_

"No, I think you're the one that's insane," said Draco, improvising and hoping that this wouldn't get him strangled by a very irritated Potter. "People can go insane from grief, can't they? Or at least, pass into a catatonic state, which I'd say is the only reasonable explanation for the state of your room right now. Can't you just - "

"Actually," Potter cut in coolly, "I'd really like to get some sleep tonight before I have to figure out what to do with you, so would you mind shutting your bigoted mouth for a few hours?"

"Fine", said Draco. He really wasn't keen to go back to sleep for fear of experiencing more nightmares, but he could hardly say so. Potter looked at him for a moment, and Draco was sure he was considering asking for his bed back, but his hero-saviour-whatever-the-hell-it-was complex must have won out, because he merely said, "Just move off the bed for a minute, will you, so I can get a blanket" before lying down on the floor with some school books and miscellaneous clothing under his head as a pillow.

* * *

 _A.N. See what I mean? I'm so sorry! Feel free to review saying how bad it was...just try not to make me cry xD But aaaanyway. For those who don't know what I'm talking about with the whole Dan and Phil thing, they are a couple of extremely awesome British youTubers. Except Phil doesn't have green hair. This is obviously in some bizarre alternate universe where a.) they were born around 10 years earlier and b.) they're wizards (and Harry doesn't like them much). I hope they don't find this and sue me... Also, just a note that I didn't actually originally plan for them to be in this - I only discovered them a month or so ago and it's been three months since I updated. I just thought that the Aurors would be really character-less otherwise, so why not add a dash of awesome and probably make everyone lose interest in this story! It's probably the last you've seen of them though...don't want to bend canon too much._

 _Sorry, mammoth A.N. I probably won't update again before Xmas so I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and New Year when the time comes! :) Bye!_


	6. And Yet More Visitors

**Chapter 5. And Yet More Visitors**

 _Disclaimer: I do not own the Wizarding world or the characters thereof. They belong to J.K. Rowling._

 _Well, I'm back! A lot happened in 2016, namely taking a gap year, getting a job, not getting a music qualification I'd worked very hard for, going through some tough things and making a number of great new friends, and I'm now doing my first year of an Arts/Languages degree at uni, which is very exciting! Sorry for the long absence, it wasn't intended but I just wasn't in the space to write fanfic for any of that time. I don't know how long I'm back for, but if any of the original readers/reviewers of this have stuck with me, I just want to say thank you so much._

 _No review replies from now on as it's too hard to keep track after a year's hiatus, but_ gratias maximas ago _(as the Ancient Romans would have said) to all who have written reviews, favourited or followed._

 _Without further ado, on with the story! :)_

* * *

Exhausted, Harry and Draco slept through sunrise and well into the morning. Once upon a time, Petunia would have come to hammer on his door and shriek at him to "Make the breakfast and be quick about it, you lazy wretch!" – but the Dursleys' new cowardice in the face of remembered threats and unexpected visitors meant that Harry got to sleep in. His makeshift bed was decidedly uncomfortable, and several times he half-woke, shifted and muttered, but within seconds sleep had him in its grip again.

His dreams were vague and fragmented from exhaustion, but Sirius kept appearing. Now they were playing Quidditch in the Weasleys' back yard; now they were drinking Butterbeer at the _Three Broomsticks_. Now Sirius was roaring with laughter at some joke; now, bizarrely, Harry's head seemed to be nestled into Sirius' shoulder and he could feel his own chest heaving with sobs. Ron and Hermione floated by too, and Ginny, and Cedric, looking rather pale and shadowy.

A bitter wind stung his cheeks, and he was standing with his wand raised, on the green of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch this time. There wasn't a broom in sight, though, only Malfoy standing at the other end of the pitch underneath the Slytherin goal hoops, pointing his wand at him. Harry already had his spell ready – _Anteoculatia!_ – but Malfoy had got there first. A bright light was growing out of the end of his wand…it grew brighter, and brighter….

Harry woke. His head had slipped to the side, his cheek resting against the cool floor. The room was far too bright – he groaned and clutched his head, squinting up at the doorway, whence the light came.

The light receded into the normal brightness of midmorning.

"Good morning, Harry," said Albus Dumbledore pleasantly.

Harry gaped at him, unable to think of a coherent response. Meanwhile, a second figure had stepped forward, this time drawing an involuntary exclamation – "Professor!"

Lupin was already hurrying forward to embrace him. He felt thin to Harry, almost wasted. Harry wondered if, like him, Lupin had spent sleepless nights remembering Sirius. Mulling over fond memories, or reliving the horror of his fall through the Veil.

Harry's old Defence teacher seemed to have noticed the same thing about _him_ , and said as much. "You've lost weight. I'll have to keep a better check on you…make sure you don't fret too much for the rest of the summer…."

Meanwhile, Dumbledore was leaning over the bed, a look of mild concern on his lined face. Malfoy was lying on his side, half-curled, half-sprawled, looking rather wan and blood-smeared, and still fast asleep. Sometime during the night, he'd pushed the covers away so that they were rumpled round his waist.

"Remus, I think you should come have a look at Draco," he said, breaking into Harry's conversation with Lupin.

Lupin sighed and got to his feet. "I was hoping that it wasn't true what I'd heard, but nothing else could have put the boy in such a condition." At Dumbledore's enquiring look, he added, "I have no fondness for any of the Malfoy clan, Albus, but you know that I wouldn't wish this – " he gestured to his own body – "on anyone."

"No." Dumbledore sighed. "You know more than I about post-Transformation exhaustion, Remus. Do you think we should try to wake him?"

Lupin was shorter than the Headmaster, and had to look up, Harry noticed, to meet his eyes. "I would be inclined to say no….unless you have urgent questions for him? Narcissa Malfoy has disappeared, has she not?"

The older wizard seemed to hesitate. An almost shifty look passed briefly across his face.

"…Yes. Yes, indeed she has…. No, I have nothing to say to Mr Malfoy that will not keep for a few hours. I do, however, have an errand that involves Harry, here. Would it be agreeable to you, Remus, to look after Draco for a few hours until we return? And perhaps give him some advice on how to soften the severe antipathy that the Muggles seem to have contracted towards him? He will have to stay here for the rest of the holidays, after all."

Harry, who had been absently staring out the window, was suddenly on his feet.

"Wait… _what?_ Malfoy staying _here_ – but he _can't_! The Dursleys would murder both of us. And – and if I've got to have that git living in my room till term starts I think I'll – I'd – " He spluttered and fell silent in indignation.

Dumbledore looked at him understandingly, and Harry felt like throwing something at him. Still, he could hardly repeat the incident at the end of last year, when he'd tried to destroy the Headmaster's office one artefact at a time, and expect to get away with it. He forced both hands into his pockets, breathing hard.

"I'm sorry, Harry." This was Remus. "But Professor Dumbledore has decided – and I agree – that it is the only sensible option for Mr Malfoy given his current situation – "

" _Sensible?!_ " Harry exploded. He would have said more, but Dumbledore held up a hand. "Let Remus speak, please, Harry."

"Sorry," Harry muttered.

"Hogwarts is closed over the summer. He cannot go back to his parents' house with both of them gone. Quite apart from anything, it would be too isolated both for his own wellbeing and for us to easily keep an eye on him. And honestly, Harry, I know you won't like me saying it, but lots of things have changed in the last couple of months. For both of you. I'm not saying you need to become friends immediately – or even at all – but I think you will both find it a lot easier to tolerate each other this summer than in the past."

Harry snorted. "Not likely. But thanks for trying, Professor. I'll put up with him, but you'll have to conjure me another bed or something. He's not having mine for another night."

Lupin smiled. "That will be arranged."

"Time to take our temporary leave, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. He headed for the door. Harry hesitated. His eyes were fixed on Lupin. His face in the merciless midmorning sun looked more prematurely aged than ever, but his quiet, kindly smile was as comforting and familiar as of old.

"Professor – you're not going to – I mean, you won't leave before…."

"No, Harry." In one of those quick movements that never failed to surprise Harry, Lupin crossed the distance between them and put both hands on his shoulders. His grip was surprisingly firm. "I'll still be here when you get back. And I plan to visit rather often this summer. Off you go, now.

"Oh, and, Harry," he called after the Gryffindor's retreating form, "Please call me Remus."

* * *

As they crossed the living room, Harry looked about apprehensively for the Dursleys, but they were nowhere to be seen. Dumbledore noticed his anxiety, and said,

"You'll be pleased to know, Harry, that your aunt and uncle will keep out of your hair for the rest of today and tomorrow, at least. Dudley will still be here, but somehow I doubt you'll see much of him."

"But how – " Harry began.

"Quite simple, actually. I merely informed them of the recent accident Vernon's sister Marjorie has had. She happened to slip on a wet bit of pavement while walking her dogs, and is now confined to bed – or, at least, the couch – with a severely sprained ankle. Your aunt and uncle needed very little persuasion to leave the house in charge of Dudley and go visit her. I merely suggested that they stay the night at her place as well."

"Wow…." As usual, the breadth of the Headmaster's knowledge was a little uncanny. "Well, thanks, I guess…. Where are we going? And what happened to your hand?" Dumbledore had raised his wand hand to turn the doorknob, but with a soft grunt, had lowered it again, wincing. Harry quickly reached forward to pull the door open.

"Thank you, Harry. An unfortunate… _incident_ while experimenting with some rather advanced magic, I'm afraid. Nothing to worry about. As for where we are going…. we are about to visit an old colleague of mine. His name is Horace Slughorn, although I doubt that would mean anything to you at the moment."

 _He came to an abrupt halt at the end of Privet Drive._

 _"You have not, of course, passed your Apparition Test," he said._

 _"No," said Harry. "I thought you had to be seventeen?"_

 _"You do," said Dumbledore. "So you will need to hold on to my arm very tightly. My left, if you don't mind – as you have noticed, my wand arm is a little fragile at the moment."_

 _Harry gripped Dumbledore's proffered forearm._

 _"Very good," said Dumbledore. "Well, here we go."_

Seconds later, they were standing on cobblestones in a deserted square, and Harry was breathing hard. "So _that's_ Apparition," he gasped, rubbing his ears, which felt even more squashed and battered than the rest of him. "It's…."

"Highly unpleasant, until you get used to it," finished the Headmaster.

"Yeah," Harry said with feeling. "I'd prefer a broom any day."

As he followed Dumbledore's long stride through the quiet streets, another thought struck him. "Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"Malfoy. He claimed he was allowed to Apparate – something about his dad getting him special permission from the Ministry…." He trailed off. Dumbledore was still looking at him expectantly. He floundered.

"Well… it's… you know."

"Know what, Harry?"

"Well…it's revolting. And it's unfair. And the Malfoys are gits, all of them. And I can't _believe –_ " Harry's voice was rising now – "that you and Lupin would make me _share a room_ with Ferret Junior for a bloody _month_!"

He knew he was being unfair and childish, but at that moment, he couldn't help the bitterness that bubbled up. It wasn't just about Apparition and squabbles over room space – it was about so much more – it was about everything – it was about Sirius, and Cedric, and his parents, and everything that he had lost….

Dumbledore said nothing, only kept walking. He was several paces ahead now, as Harry had stopped dead and was scrubbing his hand frantically across his eyes. He was incredibly tired and drained, and confused, exasperated and _sad_ beyond belief.

The Headmaster seemed to finally notice that Harry had stopped. He quickly turned and strode back towards him. His face, as Harry looked up at him, was very solemn and very understanding. As Remus had done, he put both hands on Harry's shoulders, and looked him in the eye.

"Sometimes, Harry, as you know, what is best isn't easy. It can be upsetting and it can be inconvenient, and I know that for you this is both. But I hope you can still try to trust me and …well…try not to kill Mr Malfoy within five minutes of you two being alone together."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

* * *

 _A/N. I would LOVE to know what you think! So if you feel up to writing a review, by all means go ahead! Also, as I'm coming back to the HP fandom after a rather lengthy absence, comments on accuracy would be appreciated! Thank you for reading, and have a great day/week/year/life!_

 _Also, I forgot to note that the passages in italics are quoted from the original text of HBP_


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